Inktober #1: Ring

"There's nothing to worry about, just place it in the fire like this."

I watched as he gently moved the stick towards the blaze, twisting the glob on the end, making sure nothing burned. So careful and delicate.

It was well on towards midnight now, later than it should've been, and my attention was drifting with the smoke.

"See, right in the middle there, right where it'll get nice and gooey. Some people like it burned, but...to each their own I suppose."

He turned his eyes to me, and followed my gaze up.

"Nothing to worry about, now. Give it a try."

The whole town was gathered around, in a ring, stoking the fire, watching the flames, roasting with their sticks. Every year, we gather. Every year, like clockwork. Like tradition. Like...ritual. Like "their" rituals.

But I still moved my stick towards the fire.

"You've got it, just like that."

When I was younger there were questions of course. Who are they? Why the fire? Why do we roast them? But the answers were satisfying and so I kept coming. The questions stopped, and I started to enjoy the heat on these cold nights, watching the smoke curl around the body before it drifted into the sky and took the evil away in the clouds.

"Careful now, it'll burn."

This would be my first time eating though. Was it really so cleansed by fire?

Shouldn't it burn?